Blatantly Dark
by Marianne-Grey
Summary: It's Harry's first year at Hogwarts, and he is nothing like what they expected him to be. Some people even seem to recognize him... but they've never met him before. So, what's going on?


The boy walked into the entrance hall, following in the midst of his fellow first years. However, unlike his peers he was silent, a stoic figure among excited chatter and nervous gestures. He observed his fellow students calmly, taking in their mussed and windblown appearances and nervous countenances before grudgingly allowing his gaze to roam the room, his eyes taking in the familiar surroundings, his eyes unimpressed with an undertone of longing and happiness to be back.

He, unlike the eleven year olds surrounding him, did not start, nor show surprise, when nearly two dozen ghostly figures streamed through the back wall, looking as if they were arguing with each other: 'Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance –'

'My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?'

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

The students exploded into chatter, shooting the glances curious looks and asking their fellow students about them. The boy, however, stood silent, studying the ghosts and watching as they in turn looked at him, recognizing him; their eyes widening silently as he gave them a small smirk. Just as the Friar was about to open his mouth and mention him, Professor McGonagall quickly reappeared, ushering the students quickly into a line and tersely instructing them to follow her. The students stood quickly and marched after her, nervous eyes flicking around as they took in their surroundings and the people watching them as they walked into the Great Hall after Professor McGonagall.

As they all walked into the hall and stopped behind Professor McGonagall they watched as everyone turned to look at the hat sitting on a stool. The students in the Great Hall were all watching attentively, staring at the old, ratty hat, which, after a moment's pause, opened a mouth-like rip on its brim and burst out into song in a rough and deep voice.

_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can top them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
If you've a steady mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap! _(taken from _The Philosopher's Stone_)

Soon after the hat had finished and the applause stopped, Professor McGonagall turned back to them, saying; 'When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,' she paused, smiling as she took in the numerous sighs of relief at only having to try on a _hat_. She then continued, calling out; 'Abbott, Hannah' who was quickly sorted into Hufflepuff after a short moment's pause under the hat.

After Abbott, Hannah came Bones, Susan who was, after a rather longer pause, sorted into Hufflepuff. After her came Boot, Terry who quickly became the first Ravenclaw of the year. And so it continued until it came to Perks, Sally Anne, who was sorted into Hufflepuff. Finally, it came to the name of the person that they'd all been waiting for… which never came. Professor McGonagall looked at the list in her hands and frowned, her brow furrowed in confusion; Harry Potter's name was _not on the list_, but she had sent his letter out herself, what was happening? The many students below her, seeing the confusion evident on her face, erupted into hushed whispers and loud, concerned chatter. Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived, was not there, why? Even the teachers looked worried, and the very fact that even the teachers didn't know what was happening caused the chatter in the great hall to come to a high crescendo.

Professor McGonagall looked helplessly at the Headmaster; what were they going to do? After a few moments of trying to catch the students attention, Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster, stood up and pointed his wand towards the ceiling, where a loud _bang_, similar to a cannonball being fired, sounded out, effectively silencing the Great Hall. Seeing that all attention was on him, the Headmaster smiled, and said; 'There is nothing to worry about, we will be personally checking on Mr Potter after the sorting and I can assure you that he will be coming to Hogwarts. Now perhaps we should get on with the sorting?' He smiled again, before retreating to his chair and nodding to Professor McGonagall to continue on.

Professor McGonagall looked up from where she had been scanning the list; her eyebrows had been rising comically as she noticed the name further down the list. After staring at the name for a few moments, she looked up, scanning the remaining first year students before her eyes stopped on one in particular, who looked at her serenely before giving a small smirk and looking away. Smiling to herself she looked back down at the list and opened her mouth, continuing to call out names and watching as they were sorted, watching with an odd half-smile, half-smirk on her face.

Finally she came to the name. She paused, smiling again to herself as the odd smile quirked her lips upwards as she called out the name that was so familiar to her in her youth, with a difference;

'Riddle-Black, Thomas'

As she called out the name, she quickly glanced up again, her eyes zeroing in on the High Table taking in everyone's expressions with unrestrained glee before she quickly constrained her expression into a neutral mask. But her eyes, however, betrayed her, shining with an unholy light, filled with, at a glance, a slight hint of madness mixed with worship. Her eyes changed from their normal light blue to a dark brown and back as she eagerly took in the features of her Lor... Tom Riddle.

Slowly, the crowd of first years parted as a figure made its way forward, striding confidently out of their midst. He was slender, with broad shoulders for one of his years, and had a lithe build; managing, all in all, to look deceptively fragile and delicate whilst exuding, all the time, an aura of power. His hair was a dark, rich mahogany, bordering on black and reached just below his shoulders; held at the nape of his neck with a white, silk ribbon. His aristocratic face was framed with curly waves of her that framed the contours of his face and fell slightly into his eyes, which were large and slightly oriental, black lashes seductively framing cold, empty emerald green eyes that shone with hidden malice and were ringed with blue-purple hazes around his pupils.

Minerva McGonagall, along with a few others who knew the truth, and many who didn't know who he really was, hungrily took in the feature of the young, aristocratic boy, eagerly and wistfully staring at him as he made his way to the stool, awaiting his sorting; which was over quite quickly, quicker even, than it had been in a very long time, nearly 50 years it was thought. And true to form, and history, the hat was not but two metres away from his head before it screamed out his house, an obscure smile on its brim as it did; 'SLYTHERIN'.

Minerva smiled proudly as she watched Tom calmly make his way to the Slytherin table amidst loud cheers from his peers. She watched as he sat down and looked up, catching her eye and smiling at her before his voice resounded in her head; _'Hello Minnie.' _She beamed at him, thinking back _'Hello Harry, or should I be calling you Tom now, little one. Bella will be very happy to see you.'_ Harry, or Tom as he was now called, smiled at her again, his eyes briefly flashing red, before smirking and turning away to answer a question from one of his new classmates.

Minerva smiled and looked back down at her list, continuing on with the sorting, giggles echoing madly in her mind as she tried to contain herself as she remembered the expressions on her fellow teacher's faces. As she came to the last name; Zabini, Blaise who was sorted into Slytherin after a moment conference between the boy and the hat, she looked back at Tom and smiled, before controlling her expression and looking up at the Headmaster, nodding her head to show she was done. As he smiled at her and clapped his hands, catching the students attention and vanishing the Hat and stool back to his office he stood up and prepared to make a speech as Minerva sat down, already ensconced in her memories of the other teacher's.

Severus Snape and Quirinus Quirrell sat with excitement running through their eyes, happiness and confusion jointly running through their thoughts as they clapped for the newest Slytherin; their minds in a hazed and in a stupor, their left forearms burning and throbbing painfully as it sensed its creator, and no doubt shining as black as it used to be; they were in the presence of their Lord, he had risen and even better, the saviour of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter, who was meant to be a beacon of light, knew, and was in fact the Dark Lord's partner, according to the message that was sent into their minds by him as he was sorted and sat down. They were ecstatic.

One person however was not, and that person was Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He sat in a horrified silence, his hands mechanically clapping for his newest student and a smile frozen on his face as his mind raced through possibilities. How could Tom Riddle be back? And why was he a Black? But most importantly of all his thoughts was 'Where is Harry Potter?' He never even suspected that Harry Potter could have been right under his nose, just using a different body. Maybe if he had known what Harry looked like, he would have, but for all his planning he never took into account that Harry might not look like a carbon copy of his father; James Potter.

Pomona Sprout, Filius Flitwick and Sybil Trelawney, along with Madame Pomfrey, all sat clapping, confusion evident on their faces and running through their minds. They had, after all taught Tom Riddle, so what was he doing here, why was he a first year and why did he have the name Black? They also knew what Tom Riddle looked like, and this boy was a very close copy, apart from the hair, which had to have been a Black trait, and his eyes; Tom Riddle's eyes had never been that shade of green, they had never been that captivating. Maybe if they had looked closer instead of calling upon memories and overlapping them over the present image of Tom, or Harry as he still was, they would have seen the very noticeable differences; Harry looked much more like a Black and a Lestrange than he did look like the former Tom Riddle. But they didn't and so they sat, still confused.

Thomas Marvolo Riddle-Black, or Harry James Potter-Black as he was _really_ called, however sat in smug silence, listening to the people around him and interjecting whenever it was needed. His small hand gracefully came up as he was thinking and smoothed his hair over his forehead, right where the scar from where the encounter between him and Lord Voldemort had taken place when he was a year old lay. As his hand came down and picked up his goblet of pumpkin juice, he sat within his mind, thinking back to when he had first met Tom. He had been five years old and had just been thrown back into his cupboard; his body lay broken and bloody after the latest beating from his uncle. And so, he had the retreated into his mind where he had met Tom, and from there it had continued, everything leading up to this moment and seeing the confusion and terror, the horror, on Dumbledore's face. The pain of the blood ritual when Bellatrix and Rodolphus, along with his _real_ father; Sirius Black, had undone the blood lock that Dumbledore had put on him to make him look like James Potter by using their blood to destroy it and each had, inadvertently, adopted him. It was all worth it though, especially when Tom had gotten his body back, even though Harry still had the mind link, which they used to talk to each other constantly.

It had also been discovered that Harry was, through his birth mother's side, Lily, descended from Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw. Not to mention the blocks that had been placed on him by Dumbledore, this had, thankfully, quickly been taken off by the goblins during the Inheritance Ritual. Many other interesting things had been found, the most exciting being a bond-mate, or as they were called in the Muggle world; soul mates. Ironically, his bond-mate was Tom, which had explained why Tom had been unable to kill him when he was a baby, the reasons and causes of which they had talked through when Harry was younger. Harry had long ago come to terms with Tom killing his Mother and James Potter, and he had, long ago, forgiven him.

Even though Harry was 11, and Tom was, in his new body, 18, they were still… involved. Because of the blood ritual he had done with Bella, Rodolphus and Sirius, his body had aged until he was now 13, turning 14 in July, even though the school records showed that he was 11. They had explored their relationship, nothing explicit of the like, just kissing and touching. After all, they _were_ both teenage boys.


End file.
